


Mystery Spots and Motives

by Katie (katieandsav)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Ending, M/M, Mystery Spot, Rewrite, katie's shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieandsav/pseuds/Katie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternative ending to the episode "Mystery Spot".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mystery Spots and Motives

**Author's Note:**

> "Anonymous asked you:  
> What about an alternative ending to mystery spot where Sam asks Gabe why he killed Dean over and over again and he ends up confessing his undying love for him."

“Sam, there's a lesson here that I've been trying to drill into that freakish Cro-Magnon skull of yours.” The Trickster twirled the stake he was holding, drawing an imaginary circle around Sam’s face.

“Lesson? What lesson?”

“This obsession to save Dean?” The Trickster stepped forward, his voice suddenly serious. “The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood, and pain.”

Sam’s throat knotted up, his eyes burning as he watched the Trickster. The other man’s face was sincere—almost earnest in his attempt to get his message across.

“Dean’s your weakness,” the Trickster continued quietly. “And the bad guys know it, too. It's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes, you just gotta let people g—”

“Why do you care?” Sam asked softly, cutting the Trickster off.

The Trickster blinked as he was interrupted, golden eyes fixing on the Winchester’s face. “What?”

“Why d’you care if I get myself killed? Idiots, jerks—you give 'em what’s coming to them. Just desserts. It's your thing. If I’m being reckless, shouldn't you be _trying_ to gank me?”

“Because you need to live, Sam,” the Trickster snapped, his grip suddenly tightening on the stake before he dropped it altogether.

“Azazel’s gone--no one needs me to run his army anymore. I should be dead. I _deserve_ to be dead.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not. And you’re not going to be, got it? If Dean ain’t around, you’re not gonna accidentally—or on purpose—get yourself killed. And how’s about we keep it that way, huh, kid?”

“He’s my brother,” Sam whispered.

The Trickster’s eyes flashed, an unidentifiable emotion crossing his face. “He’s your _poison_ , Sam. He’s the last nail in your coffin’s lid. Without him around screwing stuff up for you, you can live. Even if you don’t have some apple pie life like you deserve, your heart’s still beating and that’s good enough for m—”

“I still don’t get why you care!” said Sam, louder than before. “What the hell makes you think I should live while Dean dies? I’ve already died! I’m just a walking corpse, okay?”

“Because a world without you ain’t a world I wanna live in, bucko.”

“ _Why_ —”

“Because I love you, dumbass!” the Trickster yelled, face flushing with anger. He stared at Sam hard for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists. “That simple enough for you, or do I have to get it tattooed across my forehead?”

Sam froze, hand lifted halfway to his face to wipe away an errant tear that had slipped down his cheek. He breathed out slowly, studying the Trickster’s now-dark eyes. “You  _love_ me?” he asked dubiously as he dropped his hand, the tear now forgotten.

The Trickster turned in a frustrated circle as he contemplated something, then lifted his gaze to Sam’s face. “Alright, fine. You want the truth? Here it is. Name’s Gabriel. The archangel one. Yes, angels exist. No, they’re not all fluffy wings and halos. They’re dicks. Which is why I ran away and found my own little corner of the world. Hey, what a coinkydink--our life stories practically match. Long story short, Samster, your mom used to tell you and Deano angels were watching over you: she was right,” the Trickster—Gabriel—finished off flatly.

Sam stared at Gabriel incredulously. There was a frustrated air about the man, but for the first time since Sam had met him, he didn't seem to be lying. “So you’ve been…”

“Watching over you? Yep. You got your very own guardian angel, kiddo,” Gabriel said. “What, am I not as majestic as you expected?”

“So, what—you were assigned to take care of me or something?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Kid, you need to get your hearing tested. Like I just said, I don’t have anything to do with those holier-than-thou douchebags up there in Cloudland. No. I just… thought you might need someone to look out for you.”

“How--How long's this been going on? How long've you been... watching over me?" 

"What is this, Twenty Questions?" Gabriel cocked an eyebrow, then sighed. “Dunno. You weren’t too young when I first saw you. Somewhere between fourteen and seventeen, I think. You’d run away to some place called Flagstaff. Didn’t you have a dog?”

“Bones,” Sam said quietly, recalling the goofy retriever that had been his companion for those two weeks.

“Yeah, something like that. Anyway,” Gabriel continued, pulling a chocolate bar out his pocket and opening it to take a bite, “since even back then you were the size of the Empire State, it wasn't exactly hard to notice you stealing some crap from the gas station. The abridged version of the rest of that little tale is that, basically, my plan was to stick around till I was sure you weren't gonna get your scrawny ass into any trouble. But, as we all know, you absolutely _suck_ at not getting into trouble--even if your ass ain't as scrawny anymore--so I've just... kept an eye on you ever since.”

“So, um, ignoring the creepiness in the fact that you followed a teenaged boy home—”

"Tone down the attitude, kid. I'm an angel. We’re allowed to do that,” Gabriel cut in, almost defensively.

“—you’ve been watching me all this time? How come I didn’t see you?”

“Angel mojo, kid,” Gabriel replied. There was a crack of thunder outside, and suddenly, the room was illuminated in bright white light. For a moment, Sam could see the vague outline of two large, aureate wings extending from Gabriel’s shoulder blades. Sam sucked in a quiet breath and stepped back, for the first time fully aware of how powerful the angel, the  _archangel_ in front of him was--and just how little effort it would take for Gabriel to kill him.

Gabriel glanced over his shoulder with an amused sound. “How serendipitous,” he commented, tone dry. “I swear I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Uh, yeah, okay. So, er, where does this whole being in love with me thing come in?” Sam asked, somewhat warily. 

Gabriel smirked. “Watch your ego, kid.” He exhaled, his expression becoming somber. “Being in love with you. Right. First of all, lemme say that ‘love’ to us angels ain't what it is to you lot. It’s not cuddling on the sofa, watching crappy movies together or going on elaborate dates. So you don’t have to worry about wining and dining me or anything.”

“So what _does_ it mean?”

 “It means,” Gabriel started slowly, “that I would die for you. That dying for you would, in fact, be preferable to living in a world without you in it. Sam, us angels like order--even the pretty... maniac ones like me. Without an anchor—whether it’s a job, a position, God, whatever—we lose ourselves. When I left Heaven, I lost my anchor. But then I found you and, jeez, this sounds like something outta some cheesy YA novel, but you became my beacon, Sam. Whenever I had nowhere to go, I’d find you. Sometimes I’d tell you about what I’d been up to while I’d been away. You never actually heard any of it, 'course, but I told you anyway. Don’t ask me why, 'cause I dunno.” He paused. “Not helping the whole creepiness factor, is it?”

“I can’t believe I never realised,” Sam said. 

“If you'd been lookin', you woulda. There were signs, kiddo. Pretty obvious ones, if you ask me. Ever wonder how there was WiFi wherever you went? Or how info on whatever beast you were hunting just happened to pop up right when you needed it? What, didja think the Internet Gods had just smiled down upon you?" He shook his head, as if marveling at Sam's stupidity. "Kid, you’re blessed,” said Gabriel. “Who did you think you were praying to every night?”

“That—That was you? I… what about God?”

“God’s long gone, kid,” Gabriel told Sam. His tone was strangely emotionless. “Been gone for centuries. Now all that’s up there in Heaven is bickering angels. It ain’t pretty.”

Sam remained silent, studying the floor as he tried to take what Gabriel had said in. Twenty-four years of praying, and only for less than half had anybody been listening.

“Sam?” Gabriel asked after a moment. Sam heard him stepping closer, and a moment later, Gabriel had ducked his head to peer up at him. Despite the exaggerated quirk of his eyebrow, there was something oddly genuine about the concern on his face. “You okay there, kiddo?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Sam replied hurriedly, shaking his head. “Just—Gabriel? If you love me—”

Gabriel raised his brows. “If I didn’t, that whole speech woulda been kinda moot.”

“—bring Dean back. Please.”

Gabriel let out a bark of disbelieving laughter and stepped away from Sam, his honey-coloured eyes dulling with what look suspiciously similar to hurt. “All'a that and we're back to square one? I might as well've not wasted my breath. Kid, I already told you. No can do. I can’t have you getting yourself killed ’cause of Deano and his damn hero complex.”

Desperation crept into Sam’s tone. “C’mon, Gabriel, _please._ Dean’s my brother. I need him, okay?”

Gabriel looked at Sam, seeming to contemplate something. He sighed, then said, “Okay, look. This all stopped being fun months ago. You're Travis Bickle in a skirt, pal. I'm over it.”

“Meaning what?” Sam asked, his voice catching.

“Meaning that's for me to know,” Gabriel said, turning and away from Sam, “and you to find out.” Glancing over his shoulder, he looked at Sam for one last moment, then shut his eyes and snapped his fingers. 

 

* * *

 

“ _Promise me I'll be back in time…_ ”

Sam’s eyes shot open. He sucked in a breath and sat up, staring around at the dirty mustard walls of the motel room like he'd never seen such a contraption before. 

“What, you gonna sleep all day?” came Dean’s familiar voice as he walked through the doorway, his words muffled around the toothbrush in his mouth.

 “ _Gotta get back in time…_ ” the radio continued to croon. Dean shot it a look of disgust.

“I know,” Dean said distastefully. “No Asia. This station sucks.” 


End file.
